


A Different Person's Opera

by waiting_in_the_weeds



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22344484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waiting_in_the_weeds/pseuds/waiting_in_the_weeds
Summary: Deacon Walsh is sick, in every sense of the word. He has a rare blood disorder, he's sick of being trapped in his house all the time, and his humor is just a little bit twisted. When he finally gets a chance at freedom, he sees something he shouldn't have. Now he has to decide whether he keeps to himself, or searches for a girl he hasn't seen in a decade. Can he find Shilo in time?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	A Different Person's Opera

I miss my best friend.

It’s been years since I saw her, true. But I can still miss her, right?

Her name was Shilo. We got along because we were both diagnosed with rare blood diseases. The kind that even GeneCo couldn’t cure. There was a weekly support group for a while, kids with debilitating diseases. Her father actually ran the group. I think it was more of a study for him, since he’s a doctor. Shilo had said, more than once, “my dad will find a cure.”

I lost all hope of a cure when they disappeared.

They didn’t move, I know that. I still see lights in their big Victorian house, and I know Mr. Wallace would never leave the home connected to his wife’s grave. All the same, one week, neither of them showed up to the group. I tried running it, but the other kids didn’t want me. They wanted the kind-hearted man who answered each and every question asked of him with a weary smile on his face. They wanted a medical professional who was just as good a doctor as he was a father. After a couple weeks without him, people stopped bothering to show up. Even I stopped going. It wasn’t the same without Shi.

That was probably ten years ago now. I’m twenty-one, and if I did my math correctly, she’s seventeen. That is, as long as she isn’t dead. I would have heard about it, though. Right? Sure, obituaries are a thing of the past. But someone would have said something.

_Right?_

I sat on the edge of my bed, contemplating whether or not I wanted to try and get out today. My mother would say no, after a recent flare up of my leukopenia. Whatever. I checked my white blood cell count this morning. It was the closest to normal I had seen in weeks. I wasn’t about to let another opportunity for a walk slip past me.

I put on a surgical mask, just in case though. In a bout of depression from being stuck inside, I drew silly faces on all the masks left in the box. My little brother helped.

“This one is so you look silly _and_ scary!” he had proclaimed when he showed me his drawing.

I thought it looked more like a creepy corpse grin, but I wasn’t going to deter him from drawing.

“Looks great, Kiddo,” I said, tousling his hair. He laughed, a cheery sound that almost brought me out of my funk. Almost.

I walked down the narrow, creaking hall to the kitchen. My father was at the table with Owen, making sure the eight-year-old didn’t spill too much breakfast on his clothes. All four of us knew it was inevitable, but if we could prevent some, we could at least say we tried sending him to school presentable.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Mom asked.

“Out.”

“Excuse you, Deacon. Out is not an acceptable answer.”

“Sorry. Elsewhere.”

“Deacon Blake Walsh, you need to tell me right now.”

“A walk, Mom. For fuck’s sake, I’m going for a _walk_.”

“Dea, stop using that kind of language around your brother!”

“Fine. Can I go now?”

“Be back before Owen gets home from school.”

“As you wish.” I stalked out the door before I could get in any more trouble. Left at the end of the sidewalk, right at the corner. I knew the route to the graveyard well. As soon as I was out of sight of the house, I slid the mask down my face. The air smelled like saltwater and corpses. It was the familiar smell of the city, and I loved it. It meant I could be outside again.

I passed several people on my way to one of the biggest graveyards in the city. No one in my family knew just how acquainted I was with the territory. Or the other people that frequented the place.

I stepped through the ever-open gate, wondering which stone I’d settle by today. I had a notebook full of short stories I’d written, inspiration drawn from the name and ages on the grave markers. Some of the graves of wealthier people had holograms in them. You could press a button and see a face, in luminescent blue. Those graves were always the most neglected, if you’ll believe it. Once the sap’s kids get the money, they don’t care about the body. A grave robber could do whatever they wanted. I’d seen it all too many times.

Speak of the devil—

“Hey, dumbass,” I called out to a back turned towards me. “Largo’s looking for you. Shouldn’t you be laying low?”

“I was,” a voice growled, “until you showed your ratty little head here.”

“My hair looks better than yours ever will,” I shot back. Graves finally turned around.

“Nice seeing you again, Kid. How long has it been? A decade?”

“Five and a half weeks. I only got out today because my mother was feeling nice.”

Graves snorted.

“You mean you snuck out before she could make you stay.”

I slid down to the ground. GraveRobber followed suit.

“You say to-may-to; I say ‘suck my dick’.”

“Jesus, Kid.”

“I’m almost twenty-two, Graves. Hardly a kid.”

“Everyone’s a kid, Kid. If you wanted me to call you something else, you shouldn’t have given me a bullshit name in the first place.”

“Deacon _is_ my name, and I don’t see you giving your name to anyone.”

“Who needs a name when you’re constantly running for your life?”

“Hey, the repo man hasn’t gotten you yet.”

“Yet.”

We sat in silence for a while. I knew his transplant was a touchy subject. I only knew he had had one because I saw the scar on his stomach when he reached high above him, climbing to safety from one of Largo’s henchmen. No, not a repo man. Just someone looking for grave robbers.

Graves fiddled with his Zydrate gun, checking the needle array. Once the sarcastic banter was over, we didn’t really have much to talk about. Not that either of us were really the talkative types. I learned long ago that he didn’t have anyone left. A random person hiding in a graveyard for fun didn’t exactly make someone a friend, but not a stranger, either.

“You know, you could join me,” he said suddenly.

“Graves—” I said dejectedly.

“I know.”

He did. He knew I was going to tell him I got sick too much, or I couldn’t bear to leave Owen. But God, it was so fucking tempting.

In the silence that followed, I heard whispers.

“He’s got to be here somewhere,” a male voice muttered.

“Please, Mr. Largo has no idea where he is. Just that he frequents the graveyards,” a second, deeper voice replied.

“Keep it down! You know what happened to Smith when he badmouthed Rotti Largo!”

“That’s only because Smith said that the grave robber we’re after is just an urban legend.”

“What do you believe?”

“I believe in collecting paychecks. Now shut up. If he is here, you don’t want him to hear us.”

I turned towards Graves. He nodded. I returned it with a sad smile. I wasn’t going to follow him today. No matter how much I wanted to.

He stood up suddenly.

“Catch me if you can, boys!”

The skinnier of the two men spoke first.

“He’s real!”

“No shit,” Graves said, before taking off running.

I laughed to myself. His getaways were always entertaining.

When I was sure the two men were distracted by my companion, I stood up. My legs were sore from sitting cross-legged for so long, so I started wandering between the graves before I walked back home. I still had plenty of time before Owen got home from school.

And, of course, that’s when things went to shit.

The sirens started blaring.

“Lockdown. Lockdown,” an automated voice started chanting. I knew that the lockdown procedure would have been called eventually. But it was so obvious that the two guys trailing GraveRobber were new, I was hoping that they’d forget protocol.

The gate clanked shut in front of me. I was stuck here until they caught him, or they lifted the lockdown. They’d call in backup in order to sweep the premises. Which meant anywhere from two to eight hours. Once, there was a forty-eight-hour lockdown. No one allowed in, no one allowed out.

“Fuck me,” I muttered.

I paced back and forth in front of the gate. Subconsciously, I slid my mask back on, knowing that I was going to be outside much longer than I anticipated. No point in engaging in any more risky behavior today.

“Freeze!” a gravelly voice called from within the graveyard. I listened, knowing how much trouble I’d get in if I didn’t. I raised my arms slowly, showing I had nothing to hide. I was grateful I had worn what I did. Skinny leather pants, a tight black tee shirt, and clunky back boots. My mask was the only thing that could really be deemed out of the ordinary, and it was very obvious I had no hiding places on my person. Unless they wanted to do a full cavity search.

“State your name!”

“Hi there. Deacon Walsh. Out for a walk among the graves. My cousin is buried here.”

The body attached to the voice finally appeared from the shadows. I gulped. I recognized the uniform right away. The black leather bucket mask, the matching smock. The GeneCo logo on the shoulder. They had sent a repo man to catch Graves. I looked up, looking for eyes in the helmet. I found them.

And I recognized them instantly.

Last time I had seen these eyes, they were hidden behind a pair of black rectangle glasses. There had been a glint in them that matched a fatherly smile. There had been a kinder, gentler voice associated with them.

I was staring at the eyes of Nathan Wallace.

I tried to keep my composure. It was very hard, though. I felt half my life crumbling around me. Mr. Wallace? A repo man? It couldn’t be.

“Put your hands down, Walsh. An associate of mine is going to ask you a few questions. It’s in your best interest to answer them truthfully.”

“Yes, sir.” I lowered my arms, hoping to god I was wrong. His voice wasn’t right. So it couldn’t be him.

But there was no mistaking those blue eyes I had seen so many times.

The Maybe-Nathan walked away and conferred with one of the men from before. The skinny one, the one with the higher voice, came to talk to me.

“Were you alone when you arrived in the graveyard?” he asked, trying to sound gruff. It wasn’t working in the slightest.

“Yes.”

“Did you have plans to meet anyone here?”

“No.” So far, all my answers were one hundred percent true. I knew that wouldn’t last.

“Did you see anyone else when you were here?”

“I saw a couple other mourners.”

“Did you recognize the mourners?

“No.”

“Can you describe them?”

“One was a shorter woman, wearing a black dress, and carrying three dark red roses. The other I only saw the back of, not a good view.” Still the truth. Mostly.

“Why were you here?”

“I was visiting the grave of Matthew Warden. My mother’s brother’s son.”

“I ran your name. You live at 2851 North Shore Lane with your parents and brother, yes?”

“Yes…?” Where was this going?

“Do you need an escort home?”

I let out a muffled sigh.

“No, sir. I can make it home fine, as long as your boss will let me out of the lockdown.”

“I’ll check.” He wandered to the others, gun dangling at his side. How had I missed that before? I was not on my A game today.

I watched their brief conversation. The repo man nodded.

“You’re free to go, Walsh. Try to keep out of trouble.”

He cracked the gate and let me slide through before closing it again. I knew the lockdown was over, since they let me out, but they’d keep the gate closed until Mr. Largo gave the okay to open it again.

Boy, he was gonna be pissed they missed Graves again.

***

I made it home in time for lunch. Owen wouldn’t be home for a long time still. I had around three hours to myself. I made myself a sandwich and took it to my room. As I digested the food, I did the same with the morning.

“Okay, talk it through, Dea,” I said to the room. “You haven’t seen Shilo or Nathan in a decade. A lot of people have blue eyes. Especially since all the cosmetic enhancements GeneCo offers now. You probably just thought it was Mr. Wallace because you were thinking about Shilo earlier.”

Pretty sound logic, if you ask me.

“Besides, Mr. Wallace is a doctor, not a repo man. He’s too nice to be one.”

God, when I said it out loud, it sounded even worse. How could I ever suspect him? He was always so good to Shi and me.

“Alright, Dea, you dumbass. Forget about it.”

***

But I couldn’t. The rest of the day, I saw those eyes in my memories. They even haunted my dreams, along with Shilo, and the idea of ditching my family and running around with Graves. When I woke up, I found myself in a cold sweat. It was early in the morning, too early for anyone else to be awake. I snuck down to the basement, where the family’s (okay, my) medical lab was. I grabbed what I needed to check my blood levels. With a precision I could only get from as much practice as I had, I drew two vials of blood. I snagged a juice box from the mini-fridge before placing one of the vials in the centrifuge. The other, I brought over to my lab bench. I measured one milliliter with my pipette and placed it on a glass plate. I added a couple drops of Wright’s stain and pressed a second plate on top of it.

The microscope showed me everything I needed to know: my white blood cell count was close to normal. I was surprised. Logically, I guess it made sense. When I went outside, I was exposed to things my body needed to fight off, so more white blood cells would be made. The centrifuge stopped whirring while I was looking for basophils for fun. I ditched the bench and grabbed the vial. I lifted it to the light, checking the white count against the red. Not bad at all. Maybe Mom would let me be a bit more adventurous.

I heard the beginnings of life above me. Heavy footsteps, meaning my father had been the first to wake up. Not unusual in the slightest, other than the fact I was awake before him.

He padded down the stairs to the kitchen, then the lab.

“Hey, Deacon.”

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?”

“What are you doing awake so early?”

_I couldn’t sleep because I had a nightmare about a person I haven’t seen in ten years, and the closest thing I have to a friend is on the run from the repo men again, and Shilo Wallace is on my mind._

“Nothing. I couldn’t sleep so I decided to check my counts again. It’s pretty good today.”

“That’s good, Dea. You want to do anything today?”

“Don’t you have work?”

“Yeah, but I know how much you love the morgue. Besides, Mason has the day off. He won’t care if you join.”

I laughed. There was an old skeleton in the closet where my father worked. The first time I tagged along, I gave him a name. He never scared me. Mason the skeleton was an old friend.

“Sure, Dad. I’d love to come today.”

“Great! I’ll let Mom know.”

He went back up the stairs, leaving me to clean up the remains of my experiment. I washed everything quickly, eager to go out into the world again. The morgue was a part of GeneCo, on the same part of campus as the hospital where they performed all the surgeries. Death was rarer now, but they still needed someone to preserve the bodies that paid well.

I could wander the hospital and look for Mr. Wallace. Then I could prove my theories wrong and sleep soundly tonight.

***

If only life were so convenient.

When my father and I got to work, half the hospital was cordoned off, because of a case of meningitis spreading rapidly. Even without prompting from Dad, I would have steered clear of the area. Exploring an open infection zone was asking for trouble, even if I pulled out every saving grace I had. As it was, I left my gas mask at home, as well as my antibiotics. Mom would give me hell for it, I’m sure.

The phone started ringing a few minutes after we settled in. Dad was already wrist deep in a body, so I grabbed it.

“GeneCo Morgue, you stab ‘em, we slab ‘em. How may I direct your call?” I answered.

“Deacon Blake!” my father yelled, drowning out the voice on the line.

“Sorry, what was that?” I asked.

“Where’s Michael Walsh?”

“Hands deep in corpse liver.”  
“Charming. Mr. Largo is looking for him.”

“Which one?”

“Mr. Rotti Largo.”

“I’ll pass along the message.” I put the phone back on the receiver, stunned.

“Hey, Dad?”

“What is it, Dea?”

“Mr. Largo is looking for you. Sorry, Mr. ROTTI FUCKING LARGO is looking for you. To clarify.”

Dad turned and stared at me, eyes wide.

“Deacon, this better not be a joke.”

“I don’t think so. At least, the voice on the phone was a real person, not automated. Seems important to me. I would go.”

“Fuck,” my father swore. He never swears around other people if he can help it. He ran over to the sink, tore off his gloves, and scrubbed his hands down. He started to run out the door.

“Your apron, Dad.”

He ripped it off, getting only slightly tangled in the process, and raced from the room, leaving me alone with a corpse, a skeleton, and free reign.

A dangerous combination, if you ask me.

I walked to the back room, where constant negative pressure systems and ventilation allowed it to be safe for mask free breathing, and food. I closed the door behind me before cracking open a bottle of water and downing half of it in one large gulp.

The real question running around in my head was what would I do before my father got back?

“Well, I could run DNA samples on the corpse. Or I could leave and explore the not blocked off sections of the hospital,” I said out loud.

Well, wouldn’t you know, the corpse and skeleton didn’t offer any determent.

I left the morgue with a mask on, which, in all honesty, would help me blend in more. I took the service elevator to the third floor, where vital organ transplants happen. From there, I took the stairs to the top floor, where private practice doctors had their offices.

It probably wasn’t the smartest decision to walk up to the closed door with Mr. Wallace’s name on it and pound on it. But that’s exactly what I did.

One of the other staff members walked by as I was doing this.

“You’re Walsh’s kid, aren’t you? What are you doing up here?”

“Yeah. I’m visiting an old family friend. Actually, he’s the one that first diagnosed me. I had a few questions about the progression of my disease,” I answered lamely. I was never good at lying. The doctor seemed to buy it, though.

“Good luck getting hold of Nathan. He hasn’t been here in years.”

“Then why--?”

“No one bothered filling the office. Poor guy, lost his mind after his wife died. He tried holding it together for a few years, but he never really was the same. No one knows what happened to him.” He wandered down the hall, leaving me in a state of confusion.

“What?”

***

I stalked back down to the morgue, which was still empty of the living. I sat on the wheeled stool and pushed myself around the room. The wheels sounded smooth against the concrete, providing the background noise I needed to think.

_That other doctor said Nathan disappeared. Didn’t actually say when. Could’ve been any time in the last decade. Maybe they did move out, and I didn’t notice. But why would they, with Mrs. Wallace buried there? But why haven’t I seen either of them around?_

_Because Shilo is sick too._

“God, Deacon,” I finished aloud. “It’s obvious, and you’re stupid.”

Another few minutes went by before Dad walked back in.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“I can’t say,” he replied.

I scowled.

“I never get to know the good stuff,” I muttered.

“Hush, Deacon. Want to run a few tests for me?”

“Sure.”

I was tasked with getting blood counts, running a comprehensive drug panel, and hormone panels. I drew half a pint of blood, which I must mention is a lot harder getting from a corpse than a live human. I worked quietly at the lab bench, using the time between active work to write more in my journal. I found myself writing about Graves, creating a fiction where he revealed his real name, what transplant he had gotten, and who his family was.

When the day was over, we went back home by way of the grocery store. Aside from the questions of what we needed at home, Dad and I barely talked. His meeting from earlier in the day was probably eating at him.

Dinner was uneventful. Owen pushed his food around on the plate, not wanting to eat the salad. I ate mine slowly, knowing I would never get away with shoveling it into my mouth, no matter how badly I wanted to. Mom and Dad chatted a bit, asked him and I how our days went. He didn’t mention his meeting with the CEO of the largest corporation in the world. I glanced his way, but he never met my gaze. I had a feeling if I hadn’t already known about the meeting, he would have kept it from me, too.

After dinner, Owen and Mom followed through his normal nighttime routine. He finished his homework while she cleared the table. Dad went out to the living room to watch some medical show about the progressing advancements of GeneCo. Usually I’d watch with him, but I didn’t feel like being with anyone besides Graves. He never expected anything of me. Trouble is, there is no contacting him. He appears, we talk, we wait a few weeks, we repeat.

But I had a distinct feeling I knew where he’d be.

“Mom, Dad, can I go out?”

“Another walk?”

“Sort of. I want to get a few snacks from the store. I have a feeling I’m going to be stuck inside for a few days. I’m feeling a little weak.”

“Then going out probably isn’t a good idea, Dea,” Mom replied.

“I know, but I’ll bring my mask. And my meds. I just really want marshmallows and pop rocks.” I did want those, but I wasn’t craving them as badly as I made it out to be. The grocery store my father and I went to was strictly healthy foods, because Mom insisted with my disease that we all eat as healthy as possible. But when I was stuck in the house, she was a little more lenient. If I wanted junk food, I would have to go to the grocery store across town, or the actual candy store several miles away. Either way, I wasn’t going to be home for a while if I went out. The perfect alibi.

“I don’t know, Dea, I’d feel better if you went with your father tomorrow, in the car.”

“Okay.”

Defeated, I went back to my room. Not defeated for long, mind you. I was still going out. I’d just wait until everyone else was in bed. It was just a matter or biding my time until that happened.

I was able to sneak out a little after ten. It worked well in many regards. My family was asleep, and a fair amount of the richer citizens were at the Opera. Other people, the poorer folk like me, would be adhering to the unspoken curfew. Everyone knew the repo men struck the most between 11 PM and 4 AM.

It was too perfect.

I found Graves in a dumpster in an alley. I only figured out it was him because Amber Sweet blew past me, fury rolling off of her in waves. I guess she couldn’t get sex from Graves yet again. He knew better than to get with his “clients”. Besides, the more he denied, the more they bought to try and con him into sex.

“Psst. Graves,” I whispered next to the dumpster.

“Shut up, Kid. Now isn’t a good time.”

“It’s never a good time. I’m going outside limits tonight. Wanna tag along?”

That got his attention.

“How the fuck do you plan on going outside limits?” His head shot up out of the dumpster. I met his dark eyes with mine.

“Carefully.”

“Jesus Fuck, Kid. Come back to me when you have a real plan.” He sank back into the garbage.

“I planned on crossing the bridge.”

“Kid, no one crosses the bridge unless they have a death wish.”

“Or a dump truck.”

Silence met my response.

“You’re kidding.”

“I need out.”

“It’s too risky, Deacon.”

He used my real name. He never uses my real name.

“Graves, you just—“

“Shut up, Kid,” he said again. “I’m not doing anything like that tonight.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. I exited the alley and turned towards the outskirts of the city. My walk took me to the bridge, where no foot traffic had been allowed for decades. I stared across the water, brown and murky already, but even more so in the dark.

I heard the screams echo across that water. I turned on my heels and began sprinting. I had nothing to worry about, other than breaking curfew. Since I’d already been caught in the lockdown, it was a bad idea to be caught out where I wasn’t supposed to be again.

I ducked onto a tiny street, where several tall buildings had fire escapes that led to the street. I found the source of the shrieks from earlier: a young woman was running down them. She ran past me, breathing heavily. I watched in horror as a repo man jumped from one of the fire escapes and chased after her. When he caught up to her, he dragged his knife across her neck. Her throat split open, gushing blood everywhere.

She was on the ground in seconds. The repo man sliced her chest open, right between her breasts. He took out her heart. I saw the exact moment she died. He turned, looking around briefly, before stuffing the heart in the cooler he carried. He stood up, not seeming to care about the literal blood on his hands. Or anything, really. His stride was unbroken as he walked down the main road.

I cocked my head as I watched him. He had the same gait as the repo man who met me in the graveyard. It was too risky to follow him, so I couldn’t check to be sure. Once I knew the coast was clear, I began speed-walking home.


End file.
